


Discretion

by Alex (shinychimera)



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Dildos, Flogging, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2005-02-18
Updated: 2005-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera/pseuds/Alex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick/Simon/John, circa <em>Notorious</em>.  Pain and pleasure play.  Plot?  A little plot.</p><p><em>The other slave waits patiently, unbound, with hands folded neatly behind his back and glorious dark hair falling in waves around his down-turned face.  He is the picture of serene submission -- if it weren't for the suggestive lift of the front of his loincloth, and the silent, rapid rise and fall of his breathing, one might think he was unaware of his exposed position, and all the interested eyes fixed upon him. </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally [Posted](http://community.livejournal.com/duran_stories/73823.html) at [duran_stories](http://community.livejournal.com/duran_stories/>) at Live Journal.

_Discretion_. It's the name of my club, my home, my lifestyle, my law.

That law is ironclad about what my club members may say about what happens inside these four walls -- but it doesn't stop the place from thrumming inside with the news: there's someone new here tonight. That's rare -- our little place is very hard to find, and even harder to get into. A few gossips stroll casually from table to table, just chatting, but several diners suddenly seem inspired to finish their meal and head for the stairs. Some glance at me, to see if Master Alex will be coming along. I won't be hurried, but it's plainly time to investigate.

As I slowly climb the stairs from the dining room to the main floor, I search for my love, my business partner, my slave. He's beautiful, my Brett, holding his post by the door wearing nothing but burgundy leather pants with matching cuffs and collar. He bows his head deeply to me, but he's smiling as he lifts his face again.

Since it wouldn't do for the Master of the House to be seen hurrying, I stop to stroke Brett's cheek. "Someone new?" I ask, as he nestles his face against my palm. "Yes sir," he answers crisply. "I spoke to him on the phone last week -- he's here as a guest of Julie. Fully screened, and paid the fees for himself and his slaves without a blink."

I pause, with a finger resting on the elegantly tooled collar. "Slaves?"

He smiles again. "Yes, two of them -- although it was only one when he first made his reservation." He nods into the main room, toward the "pit" area beyond the end of the long mahogany bar. "They're lovely, too," he adds impishly. For that, I drop my hand to the ring of gold dangling from his nipple, and give it a twist, and he looks down contritely, quivering as always beneath my touch. I then let my hand drop to measure his erection, and make up my mind. I call out to one of the house slaves to take the door, and beckon Brett to follow me as I enter the foyer.

The main room is electric, with a dozen and a half people clustered around the pit. Electronic music I don't recognize throbs from the speakers; I frown, as I don't often have music playing here, but the deep bassline seems to be resonating with the crowd. Brett pauses to collect a snifter of cognac for me from the bartender as I stride across the room and climb the step up to my chair, a veritable throne of black leather and carved wood set upon a platform overlooking the pit. Brett kneels at my feet, holding my drink.

The tableau is already interesting. The young Master is a slender, androgynous blond, with brilliant green eyes deeply shadowed with eyeliner. His posture is perfect, his suit finely cut, his belt and shoes expensive. He wears no jewelry. At his feet kneel two mismatched slaves, clad only in white loincloths. My eyes narrow as I watch; the more tanned and muscular of the two is tightly bound with leather straps holding wrists and elbows behind his back, and a rigid bar holds his bare knees apart. Blue eyes blaze rebelliously above a black cloth gag. There is nothing submissive in his posture at all, and for a moment I wonder if it's possible he's here against his will -- but Brett would never allow that. I can see that others in the crowd are wondering the same, though; then someone points at the tiny bell clutched in the man's hand -- a substitute for a verbal safeword. He may be angry, but is apparently going along with this for reasons of his own.

The cool and elegant blond is ignoring him in the meantime, searching the contents of the antique satchel he has placed on the nearby pedestal table (one of the few pieces of furniture permanently fixed to the floor of the pit). The other slave waits patiently, unbound, with hands folded neatly behind his back and glorious dark hair falling in waves around his down-turned face. He is the picture of serene submission -- if it weren't for the suggestive lift of the front of his loincloth, and the silent, rapid rise and fall of his breathing, one might think he was unaware of his exposed position, and all the interested eyes fixed upon him.

The Master returns to the dark-haired slave with a pair of shining nipple clamps. He sets the first into place and says, "Look at me, John." The young man lifts his chin and licks his lips as his Master turns the tiny screw which tightens the clamp on his tender skin. I can see the pain flood through his body at the pinch of his nipple, redoubled as the tiny platinum weight is allowed to dangle free, and then the quivering acceptance that follows. The love and trust in his eyes as he waits for the second clamp reminds me so much of Brett that I have to try not to smile, as I reach my hand out to stroke Brett's hair. He lifts my drink to my hand. A sip of the fine liquor warms my body just as the purity of the boy's -- John's -- trust in his Master warms my heart. His eyes are slightly unfocused as the man draws back -- he is taking those first pleasant strides away from the realm of rational thought.

The other slave is watching him hungrily, grimacing involuntarily as if he can escape the gag. "Charley," the Master says firmly. "Eyes on me." The man is slow and reluctant to respond, and I am pleased when the Master strikes his cheek, even if the gesture is more sound than fury. The piercing eyes blaze again, and the slave's arms strain against their bindings. "You'll never get what you want if you continue to misbehave," the young man says calmly. "You think you want him now, but you don't even know how little you deserve him." Again, the muscles of the slave's hands and arms clench in frustration, but his fingers continue to hold the bell tightly.

"Show me you can take the things you want to do to him, and you may earn your chance. Fail to submit and lose that chance forever." The slave shakes his head angrily, making the soft spikes of his dark blond hair fall across his forehead, and I lean forward in my seat, fascinated; here's one who fancies himself a "top", without ever having been on the bottom. I'm eager to see how this poised young man plans to educate him. I push the drink back into Brett's hand and wave it away.

He stands with armed folded now, studying the gagged man with steady green eyes, as the resistance rises and falls within his captive, trusting time rather than force to bend the man to his will. Charley finally closes his eyes against that unwavering gaze, and his shoulders sag slightly. I smile to see how swiftly the Master reacts to this partial surrender. He snaps his fingers at John and says, "The bench, bring it now." The boy unfolds from his kneeling position in one graceful motion -- my, he's taller than I thought! -- and takes hold of the padded bench nearby. He quickly places it lengthwise in front of Charley as his Master indicates, then catches the bigger man's chin to ease him down to his belly on the soft leather. Still the slave seems to resist awkwardly, rejecting the help even though he can't control his descent with his arms bound. He squeezes his eyes shut again as John smooths a white hand across the tanned skin of his shoulders. John murmurs something in his ear, and his eyes snap open again, this time taking in the growing circle of onlookers who have gradually abandoned their dinners and their other pleasures within the club to watch this new spectacle. There's a continuous hum of excited talk, more than seems warranted by their novelty and their beauty -- I'm beginning to guess that at least one of these three is famous outside this room.

The music changes, and an otherworldly tapestry of synthesized arias weaves itself around us. There's no drumbeats, but the pulse and flow of the keyboards drives the crowd even more. Charley's focus turns inward again as the Master places a firm hand on the small of his back. First he reaches beneath his slave, adjusting the front of the loincloth so that neither the cloth nor the sex beneath is pinched against the end of the bench. He clucks his tongue in displeasure, then gives the slave's cock several quick, stiffening strokes. John's eyes never leave his Master's face, but he leans down to breathe in Charley's ear, running his tongue along its outside edge. It's impossible to tell if John is whispering to him, but it seems that his body is getting the message -- his breathing has quickened as the Master's hand finishes its preparations.

Now he beckons for his satchel again, and John is quick to retrieve it. The Master sets it on the small of Charley's back and seems to know exactly what he's looking for. The hum of the audience gets a little louder as he pulls out a contoured wooden dildo with a wide flared base, polished to a satiny sheen. He hands a small bottle of lubricant to John, who quickly smooths the shiny liquid over the dark surface, then places bottle and satchel on the floor. At his Master's direction, he places a hand on the side of Charley's head, pressing his cheek solidly down against the padded bench, and holds him there as the dildo disappears beneath the dangling loincloth. Charley tries to thrash as the Master works the blunt end of the piece into him, but he is held too firmly. His breathing is beginning to sound a little frantic, but when the Master tugs experimentally at the safety bell, Charley yanks his thumb across the top of it, swallowing within his fist his key to escape from this scene.

John watches his Master with plainly growing excitement, holding Charley's head down with tender force as he watches the man's hand push in and out beneath the loincloth. Even I, who have seen almost everything at this club, am surprised at how much this little bit of, well, discretion -- this little white scrap of cloth shielding us from the raw truth of his penetration -- seems to turn this entire public scene into something far more intimate and thrilling. I am hard and throbbing myself, and at last I pull Brett's hand to my crotch. He eagerly unzips me and his fingers seek their favorite grip on my cock. I ease myself forward in the chair so that we can both continue to watch.

Charley's movements have changed. His body rocks forward and back slightly on his knees, and at a nod from his Master, John releases his head as a moan seeps out from behind the gag. The man's eyes are half-lidded and inward-focused, but they open slowly again as the Master pushes the dildo in deeply and then leaves it there, leaving Charley untouched and unstimulated for a long moment.

The small blond man gestures John to take a place to the side of Charley's hip as he bends to his satchel once more. John breathes in sharply, seeming to guess at what is coming even before his Master places a soft flogger, a "cat o' four tails" made of flexible strips of velvety suede, into his hand. He stares down at the flogger, then up at his Master, licking his lips again as the man moves to the other side of the bench and reaches a hand beneath to fold a hand around Charley's unseen cock. After a few languorous strokes that set Charley's hips pumping again, the Master nods to John.

The young man brings the flogger down at an awkward angle against Charley's thinly covered ass. It's a weak, almost clumsy swing -- perhaps it's not just Charley who is being pushed out of his accustomed role tonight? -- but the bound man stiffens and bellows as if it were a vicious blow from a riding crop instead. John freezes, but the Master speaks soothingly to both of them, never letting up on his rhythmic work on Charley's cock. The Master waits, and he sees it as clearly as I do -- the proud man's struggle to accept the pain and let go of personal control. It's a fierce battle, and for a moment I'm not sure if he's going to cry, scream, or ring the bell that will free him at last. His mind tries to reject what his body wants; but at last I can see him decide that he must travel through the fire to get to the other side. It's an immense release of control, and again, the Master doesn't need any other signal to recognize Charley's trust. He gestures at John to strike him again, and then again and again. I can tell that it's not just the shocking pain, increasingly mixed with his body's pleasure, that is making the tears spill down Charley's cheeks.

He is feeling it for the first time, that crumbling of the walls around his soul, that surrender to pure sensation that makes everything possible, right at the moment where you feel it's impossible to endure any more. John seems rapt himself, watching the resistance wash away. Charley rests his cheek on the bench again, surrendering to the growing heat in his groin, the sobs that heave in his chest, the stinging fire John's flogger is lighting in his skin, the deep push against the throbbing places inside him as each stroke of the flogger slaps the base of the dildo between his cheeks.

I am enthralled, caught up not just in the delicious abandon of the two slaves, but in the intense joy on the Master's face. He is tightly focused on the reactions of both his slaves, and his own chest rises and falls rapidly as he orchestrates their actions with the brilliant grace of a tennis player or a concert pianist. When the moans begin to rise in pitch and Charley's body starts to shudder, the Master abruptly takes the flogger from John's hands and orders him to remove the gag.

He seizes the strap between the slave's elbows and moves in possessively behind him, deliberately leaning hard against the fiery criss-cross of welts on his ass as his hand pumps Charley's cock harder than ever. John barely has time to remove the gag before Charley's throat arches backwards and he cries out, "Oh god, oh god, oh dear god!" And then he's coming, pleasure and pain spiraling out of him in an uncontrollable flood, and the Master holds him, digging his fingertips into the edges of his hipbones, and John is on his hands and knees kissing the slack mouth, and I can hardly breathe. I have to catch Brett's fondling hand with my own, wanting to savor the suspended moment.

No one in the crowd says a word. The Master releases the straps binding Charley's arms and rubs his forearms and hands as John collects a blanket from one of my well-prepared house slaves. He waits while his Master removes the spreader bar from between Charley's knees, then they both tenderly lift Charley to his feet and wrap him up. Charley's eyes look lost and far away, and he seems to have trouble speaking, but John keeps an arm around his shoulders as the Master speaks quietly to my slaves. They bring a large chair from another part of the pit, and swiftly remove both the bench and the mess that Charley left beneath it.

The Master orders John back to his knees, in a voice that leaves no doubt that his turn is next, and which John responds to instantly. The boy lowers his head and I see him lick his lips again.

Charley is stripped of his blanket again and settled gently in the chair. The Master asks him a few quiet questions, ensuring that he's all right without bringing him fully out of his dreamy, floating state. The big slave manages a faint smile as he places the bell carefully into Nick's hand without allowing it to sound, and finally the Master tenderly straps his forearms to the wide wooden arms of the chair, and instructs him: "Watch."

He turns and pauses for a moment, regaining his poise before returning to John. He rubs a thumb against the young man's full lower lip, leaving the the slave's mouth half open, and the pulse throbbing in his throat. The boy is heartbreakingly beautiful, dark hair falling against pale slender shoulders, a faint dusting of dark hair down the middle of his chest, the hands crossed behind his back again as if his wrists naturally sought each other out at rest. I can tell that, even with his chin lowered and his eyes on the floor, he is intensely aware of his Master moving around him, gathering the satchel back onto the table and propping it open. The heavy-lidded eyes, the slack mouth, and the hard jut beneath his loincloth speak of a desperate lust, and yet he kneels, still and silent, jeweled clamps on his chest winking in the light.

I almost forget Charley's presence; when I glance at him again I see that he is as fascinated by John's restraint-without-chains as the rest of us. He watches the scene hungrily, as if his partners might vanish like a daydream at any moment. Brett follows my gaze and snickers slightly, then returns to caressing me as we watch in tandem.

The Master returns to his slave with a very long red cotton scarf dangling between his hands. He holds it where John can see it, strokes his cheek with it. The boy bites his lip, eyebrows coming together in something akin to fear. The master merely waits, and John bows his head again. I've rarely seen it so clearly -- you can almost watch the decision to submit race through him, like a rising flood that fills his skin. He is paradoxically both more relaxed and more alert as he allows his Master to step behind him and wrap the long scarf around his eyes, tying a snug knot and leaving the tasseled ends to dangle down to the small of his back.

John swallows hard several times -- it seems that being blind is hard on this one. Strange how it is sometimes these small things that can have so much more impact than the worst of the whips and chains that strangers to our realm can imagine....

The Master waits until he can see a second wave of acceptance and submission rise through his slave -- the adrenaline of his mastered fear makes his cock bob beneath its drape, prompting a chuckle or two from the gathered audience, now making itself more comfortable for a second act.

Reminded of their presence, Charley squirms a bit in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable again at being on display. On the other hand, John himself seems to draw strength from the small noises of the crowd. I watch as his Master steps closer, so that John's nose nudges against the fly of his trousers. The slave nuzzles eagerly against him, bringing hands forward just to balance himself with a grip on the fabric at the Master's knees, while his lips and teeth find the clasp of his Master's belt. He's deft and well-practiced at this, and there's some appreciative murmurs from the crowd as the buckle and then the zipper falls to his ministrations.

I see a deep sigh from him, and then I understand that he enjoys this performance -- he is reveling in this opportunity to display how well he has been trained, and the rush of attempting to perform "perfectly" for his devoted Master. Humble and subservient as he is, he is showing off. Is it just for Charley's sake? I look at the other slave again and he's leaning forward in his chair, yearning toward the pair across the floor from him, oblivious to the watching eyes once more.

Showing off or no, I must admire John's dexterity at using nose, tongue, lips and teeth to expose his Master's ready manhood. He waits for the hands to descend into his hair before kissing it, letting lips and breath caress the shaft up and down before using his tongue in earnest. He is eager -- indeed, shifting his weight from knee to knee to rub his own balls the right way -- but again, he waits for the Master's signal, hands closing into fists in his hair, before sucking the head of his lover's cock into his mouth. He proves to be as skillful with this as he is with buckles and zippers; the Master groans as he guides John's head forward and back, pushing progressively more of the cock in until some familiar point is reached. John's cheeks work beneath the red slash of the blindfold until the Master suddenly pushes him back and away.

John turns his face up, tilting his head helplessly to listen for his Master, reaching a hand out into the empty air. The young man, breathing harshly, seizes the hand and hauls John up to his feet, toward the table. He bends his slave over the edge of it and snatches the bottle of lubricant from the teetering satchel, and John spreads his legs eagerly as the man drizzles lube over his rock-hard member.

Now the Master wraps his fist in the dangling ends of the blindfold, pulling John's head back, back as the loincloth is ripped aside. The slave's long arms are spread wide on the table, bracing him only a little against that first wild thrust. His toes barely have traction on the floor as his Master rides him, holding him in an arc balanced between his hips on the rounded edge of the table and the taut scarf holding his head back. His own cock is invisible beneath the table's edge, but the dangling weights of the nipple clamps rock against his chest as incoherent gasps and cries spill from that beautifully arched throat.

I realize that my hand is still gripped around Brett's, both of us stroking my own cock in time with the Master's thrusts, and I know I'm not the only one. There's a collective sigh as we watch the Master drop the scarf as his rhythm accelerates. The young slave collapses across the table, using the new leverage to slam his hips up repeatedly under his Master's body, and we all strain with him as he struggles, gasping aloud, not to come first.

It's hard to say in the end which of them sets off the other -- the guttural cry and the high-pitched whimper come at the same moment, they both hold for that silent moment where nothing moves but the internal pumping of juices, and the two seem equally boneless as they finally slide to the floor. At last I allow myself to close my eyes and replay those final moments in my head as Brett turns his mouth to my groin, and brings me to my own crashing climax.

When I can breathe and think again, I see that the Master has gathered John into his arms and removed the blindfold, cradling him tenderly as the boy's body trembles and his eyes focus on another infinity. He is stroking the sweaty hair back from John's cheek, his brilliant green eyes fixed on the chair where Charley hunches helplessly over his second erection of the night.

His smile is faint, but unmistakably warm, as he shifts his gaze down to the beautiful man who lies in his lap, having surrendered everything he has to give.

"You've still got so much to learn, Charley...."


	2. Chapter 2

His name is Nick.

He sits, poised, across the polished table from me, perusing the wine list with a critical eye. At his left, John kneels on the carpeted floor in a lovely waiting posture; knees spread, haunches resting on heels, fingers laced under the long hair behind his neck, with head bowed so that his elbows hang neatly down the sides of his chest. The platinum nipple clamps gleam in the soft candlelight.

Beyond John, almost beyond the reach of the candlelight, Charlie waits in a somewhat less graceful pose. He is stretched tall and naked against one of the carved wooden pillars which support the ceiling in our dining area; an iron ring supports the thick leather cuffs which hold his wrists crossed over his head. His ankles are also cuffed and clasped to another pair of rings at the base of the square pillar, just wide enough to spread his knees slightly. Nick has left his mouth ungagged for now, although it's easy to tell that the polished wooden dildo is still in place. It's amusing to watch him squirm when he thinks our attention is elsewhere. His cock remains as hard as the wood to which he is chained.

Nick lowers the wine list and I raise a finger for the steward. He appears immediately, takes Nick's request for one of the finer reds in my cellar with a deep bow, and vanishes back into the shadows.

I clear my throat. "You've made a very interesting debut here tonight, Master Rhodes."

He gives me a calm smile. "Perhaps I was inspired by my surroundings, Master Alex. I have heard about this place many times, but was almost afraid to visit -- I'm delighted that the reality has lived up to my fantasies."

"You are here as a guest of one of our members?"

"My wife." He ignores my raised eyebrow and attends to ritual with my wine steward. He finally sips the wine, eyes closing in satisfaction, then goes on as if the interruption had not occurred. "My wife and I rather introduced each other to The Game during our courtship, but it seems we've taken different paths these days." He sets the glass aside and tilts his head to look down as he strokes the dark hair of his waiting slave.

I savor both my wine and the slave's languid submission before answering. "I see."

He smiles again. "She tried to bring me here before, but it just didn't seem possible at the time. Now things have changed between us, and she was kind enough to invite me to bring my own guest. _Guests._ I can see that we will definitely be wanting memberships of our own."

"You're aware that it's not a simple process...background checks, medical screening. And a great deal of money." He waves his hand dismissively.

I frown and lean forward. "There's also a contract to sign. Discretion is everything here."

"Of course -- it wouldn't work if we didn't all trust each other not to talk."

"You understand it well."

"You underestimated me."

"You are very young."

"Not so very."

We study each other. The wine glasses sit untouched in the silence. John sits very still.

"Where do I sign?" he asks at last.

"All in good time. Tonight is for pleasure, not paperwork."

"And I've had mine."

I laugh. "I hardly think you've done with them yet."

He continues to fondle the man's hair. Now that I can see them up close, I think the slave is actually older than his Master. His soft cheeks and sensuous lips made it easy to think of him as a boy, but there is a knowing maturity in those rich, coffee-dark eyes.

"John is used to being patient with me," Nick says. "He will wait like this all night if I ask him to."

"He is well trained." I allow a question into my voice.

Nick shifts his eyes back to me, then decides we really aren't going to be handling the formalities tonight. He draws a finger along the pale skin of John's collarbone. "We've known each other a very long time. Worked together, fought together -- denied each other -- for a very long time. But some time after Jules and I learned what really turned us on, I found the key to unlock our relationship, too." There's an unmistakable affection in his voice, and in the fingertips that touch John's chest.

"And she doesn't mind?"

His lips purse. "We've reached an understanding."

"So you've trained him, and he's learned to submit beautifully." I lift my chin toward the frustrated blond. "Where does he fit in?"

There's a narrowing of the eyes as he regards his captive, but I sense amusement there too. "Charlie has been a complication since we first met him. Since the day he was born, probably."

The bound man knows we're talking about him, and stares defiantly back at us, but I doubt he can hear the words.

"He lusted after John long before I could admit to myself that I wanted him, too....I think perhaps he was the first to convince John that there could be more to sex than a pretty pair of breasts. Made me terribly angry, of course -- but only because he was taking advantage of John's 'innocence', you see." He takes a last mouthful of wine, enjoying it. "But it was only an occasional thing, and life became very busy, and soon none of us had any innocence left to protect."

I lift the bottle and refresh our glasses. He raises the slave's chin with a fingertip and holds the glass to his lips; John looks up into his eyes calmly as he takes a neat swallow. I look again at Charlie, who is licking his lips and squirming within his bonds again. I turn back to Nick. "So what has changed?"

Nick smiles coldly, and rises from his chair. He taps the seam of his trouser leg, and John drops to all fours beside him, pausing only to stretch his legs behind him like the king of all lazy cats. Nick waits indulgently, and when he moves John follows behind and to one side on hands and knees, maintaining that peculiarly feline grace. I bring my wine glass along as we walk toward the tall man imprisoned against the pillar.

"Recently, Charlie figured out that John and I were doing a whole lot more than teasing each other -- and it's been driving him absolutely spare, hasn't it, Charlie?" The slave pulls hard on the cuffs at his wrists, misbehaving sadly now that he is the center of attention. I would swear that he _wants_ to be punished. Nick continues, "He was even clever enough to realize what some of the innuendo meant -- that John likes to be owned, and instructed, and tied, and paddled....tell me, did the fantasies keep you busy at night, Charlie?"

One would think by the blazing blue eyes and the angry snarl that Charlie was in such distress -- and yet I note that his erection hasn't faded, and I'm sure Nick's well aware that his struggles do more to push and pull the phallus inside of him than they'll ever do to free him from the stout leather cuffs. Charlie is not foolish enough to answer the question, however.

"Things have been getting more...interesting, as we've been traveling this year." He trails an idle hand across the slave's tanned chest, and Charlie goes very still. "More opportunities, more temptations....and you have been trying to tempt him, haven't you? Playing the dominant, trying to evoke that submission in him....trying to show him that you could be a better Master than I...." He holds Charlie's left nipple ever-so-gently between thumb and forefinger, and I can't tell whether it is the threatened pinch or the steel in Nick's voice that is making his breathing so fast and shallow.

"If you understood anything about devotion, Charlie, you'd have known that John would tell me everything. And if you understood anything about me, you wouldn't have been so shocked that I might be willing to share -- _if_ you were willing to earn the privilege." The man lets out a shuddering sigh as Nick's hand goes up to smooth back the hair at his temple -- and then he gasps again as the Master's other hand takes firm possession of his cock. "Frankly, my dear Charlie, I haven't yet seen evidence that you are worthy to touch him, much less take the responsibility of tying him up, or any of the other wild things you murmured into his ear onstage."

They stare into each other's eyes, green versus blue.

\--- to be continued ---


End file.
